


Strings

by retrauxpunk



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, M/M, but you know, like i did still try to keep it plausibly Them, this honestly bears so little resemblance to canon but i do not care i LIKE IT.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26548021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrauxpunk/pseuds/retrauxpunk
Summary: Richard's the lead guitarist of fledgling rock band Pied Piper. This is a self-indulgent band AU.
Relationships: Jared Dunn/Richard Hendricks
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Strings

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over a couple days in November 2019 and then never touched it again. So I thought, okay, may as well post it ...

They meet for the first time at a concert.

Richard’s waiting at the bar for a drink while the warm-up act works their way through a truly terrible set when he spots him, a tall man with dark hair that’s ruffled just so. He’s standing a few metres down from him at the bar, smiling mid-conversation, and the lights of the venue play across his pale skin, outlining the curve of his nose and the sweep of his neck.

Richard stares. Subtlety’s never been his thing.

‘I said, _can I help you_?’

The surly tones of the bartender bring Richard back to earth, and he tears his eyes away from the dark-haired man and mumbles his way through his order. A few minutes later, he’s holding a beer in a plastic cup as he wanders through the space, picking his way around clumps of people, trying to find him again.

It does not immediately occur to him that this is weird, mildly creepy behaviour. When it does, he stops walking, finds a spot to watch the show from and only occasionally glances around, trying to pick out the stranger in the crowd.

The warm-up act ends and the band comes on. Their set is almost good enough to make Richard stop looking.

Almost.

When the show’s over, Richard heads back to the bar for one last drink. He doesn’t really want one, and isn’t quite ready to admit the reason why he’s really there, that he’s hoping for one more glimpse of the tall man with dark hair. Why, he doesn’t really know, other than the fact that he’s the hottest person he’s ever seen and he just wants to see more of him. Never mind _talking_ to him, approaching him, maybe getting his number — does he even like guys? — no, never mind that, what a laughable —

‘Do you play?’

Richard jolts, looking to the source of the voice.

 _Oh god._ It’s him.

Standing way too close and somehow not close enough, the man from the bar, as if just thinking about him had conjured him up. Up close Richard likes what he sees even more, likes the lanky frame clad in black jeans and a white tee and a black denim jacket with the sleeves pushed up, likes the square jaw and the hair that’s just the right mix of neat and scruffy, likes the _oh my god those eyes are so blue_ —

Much too late, Richard remembers that there’s a question he’s meant to be answering.

What was the question?

He opens his mouth and prays something stupid doesn’t come out.

‘Sorry, uh …?’

The man smiles, huffing a self-conscious laugh. ‘Sorry, it’s just, I saw you moving your fingers like that, I wondered if you played the guitar.’ 

It takes a second for the words to penetrate Richard’s brain, because he’s too busy trying simultaneously to stare and not stare at this guy’s eyes. _They’re so fucking blue. Who gave you the right —_

Richard must still be lagging, because the stranger lifts his hands to demonstrate what he means, a frenetic sort of fidget that mimics fretting with one hand and strumming with the other. It’s a condensed caricature of the fidget that Richard does all the time, must’ve been doing while waiting in the line.

‘Oh, yeah,’ says Richard, with the part of his brain that isn’t staring at the man’s fingers. He drags his eyes back up to his face. ‘Yeah, I do.’

‘Cool,’ says the man, and he’s smiling … sincerely?

‘Is it?’ blurts Richard. ‘I mean, every douchebag here probably does, it’s not … special.’

_God, why don’t I just wire my fucking jaw shut._

The man shrugs and, unbelievably, is still smiling. ‘Doesn’t mean it’s not cool.’

Richard frowns a bit, shrugs in return and manages a smile too. ‘I guess. Thanks?’

‘You’re welcome. I’m Jared, by the way,’ says the stranger, sticking out his hand.

‘Richard.’

They shake. Richard tries not to think too much about how they’re making physical contact, and, failing that, settles for hoping that it doesn’t somehow show.

‘Nice to meet you, Richard,’ says Jared, and the smile broadens into a grin. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

-

They stay at the bar until it closes and the staff kicks them out. As they shuffle out onto the street, Richard takes in the reflection of the city lights on the rain-slicked streets and, for the first time in forever, thinks to himself that being alive is a wonderful thing.

He’s drunk enough that he barely even cringes at such a cheesy thought. And to be fair, he’s spent the couple hours or so having basically nothing but abominably cheesy thoughts while downing pints with Jared.

‘So,’ says Richard, spinning on his heel to face Jared and — _god, I’m drunk_ — almost falling. ‘Where to now?’

‘Well, it was lovely meeting you, Richard —’ he runs a hand through his hair, ‘— but I have rehearsal in the morning, so I should probably head home.’

‘Oh, right, sure,’ says Richard. He feels embarrassed. Should he? He’s not sure. 

Wait.

‘Rehearsal?’

‘Yeah,’ says Jared, and for the first time that evening, he looks ruffled. ‘I’m, uh, in a band.’

‘You’re _what_?’ cries Richard, and a peal of surprised laughter escapes him. ‘You’re in a band too? This whole time I was talking about _my_ band, you never mentioned yours?’

Jared shrugs modestly, smiling a little. ‘Yeah, I. I don’t know, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll stay. I mean, the money’s alright, but our frontman is … not the greatest.’

‘Right,’ says Richard, before the words fully sink in. ‘Wait, you get paid in this band?’

‘Yeah, it’s this guy’s passion project, he held auditions and basically bought the best of us who turned up?’ Jared scrunches up his face a little. ‘Most of us didn’t really want to be part of it, but he was offering a pretty good rate — a _really_ good rate, really — so, you know.’

‘Oh,’ says Richard. ‘Yeah, sure, totally. So what instrument do you play?’

Jared smiles. ‘Oh, I don’t play an instrument.’ He pauses, as if unsure whether to continue. ‘I’m a singer.’

Richard stares, hardly believing his ears. ‘No way. Shut the fuck up.’

Jared laughs. God, it’s a great laugh.

Richard continues. ‘You — you’re a singer? We _need_ a singer! You heard me talk about that like fifty times, why didn’t you say anything?’

Jared sighs a little, shrugs a little. ‘Oh, you know, I — I didn’t want to intrude. We hardly know each other, after all —’

‘That can change,’ says Richard, perhaps a little too quickly.

Before he can regret what he’s just said, Jared meets his gaze and something in his eyes flickers to life, something that makes Richard think that maybe it’s a good thing after all that sometimes his words bypass his brain when leaving his mouth.

‘Is that so?’ says Jared. The smile on his lips is positively a smirk.

‘Uh-huh.’ Richard grins, suddenly, recklessly brave. He digs his phone out of his pocket and thrusts it at Jared. ‘If you give me your number, that is.’

The smirk turns into something more sincere as Jared takes the phone and starts typing. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’


End file.
